Redemption
by sass box
Summary: Juliana Karlson likes to take liberties with the law, while Don Flack is as by the book as they come. After being forced to work together, they clash at every turn. When the serial killer that murdered her partner returns, Juliana finds herself caught in a deadly game of cat and mouse. With her friendship with Don in jeopardy, does she have what it takes to confront her past?
1. Chapter 1

**a/n: **Here's my newest story, Redemption. Although it does feature my OC, Juliana Karlson, the focus is more on how the presence of a newcomer would affect Flack and the team so soon after Angell's death. I wanted to build her relationships with various team members slowly, through various cases that show all of their strengths and weaknesses. The main pairings are Stella/Mac, Danny/Lindsay, and eventual Flack/OC, but not for a long time.

Just some background information - it takes place about a halfway through season 6, a month after Flack's breakdown in 6x08 - Cuckoo's Nest, around 6x10 - Death House. It's going to be slightly AU from then on. I've kind of estimated the time of year, but for this universe Flack's breakdown is sometime mid-September. Juliana's arrival is in late October. Danny and Lindsay have been married just over a year, and Lucy is about one. If you have any questions or notice any discrepancies with the canon, please let me know! Most of the chapters will be shorter than this, and hopefully I'll be able to update once a week or so.

I've done a ton of research on the law enforcement process in Quebec, and used actual units from the SVMP (Service de Police de la Ville de Montreal). I own nothing from that, I'm just trying to make Juliana's background as realistic as possible.

In terms of locations, let's just say this takes place in 1 Police Plaza, with the lab on the 35th floor. I've put the morgue in the basement.

For anybody who's wondering, I'm picturing Juliana looking like Jennifer Morrison as a blonde. Anyway, enjoy!

**disclaimer: **I don't own anything you already recognize, just Juliana, Philippe, and all her homies back in Montreal. I am not affiliated with any of the universities or organizations mentioned.

* * *

**re·demp·tion**

_Noun_

_1. An act of redeeming or atoning for a fault or mistake, or the state of being redeemed._

_2. Deliverance; rescue._

_. deliverance from sin; salvation._

_for guilt._

_5. Repurchase, as of something sold._

* * *

** chapter one**

It was early morning in New York, and the city was already gearing up for another busy day. More precisely, it was 7:18 on a chilly Monday in late October. Inside 1 Police Plaza, the workday was already in full swing.

In the morgue, ME Sid Hammerback was snapping on latex gloves and preparing for his first autopsy of the day. In the forensics lab, Adam Ross was just beginning gas chromatography on trace from the latest crime scene. In his office, Mac Taylor was signing the transfer papers for his new detective.

And where was said detective? Well, Juliana Karlson was standing on the sidewalk outside 1 Police Plaza and trying not to have a panic attack. It wasn't so much the idea of working on the 35th floor that bothered her, as much as the idea that she'd have to take an elevator all the way up there. Ugh.

She checked her watch, and blew out a sigh. She had exactly 1 minute and 23 seconds to pull herself together, or else she'd risk being late, which was far from the first impression she wanted to make, especially considering the circumstances. Adjusting her grey cable knit scarf, she squared her shoulders. She was ready for a fresh start. Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the glass double doors, and found herself inside a bustling lobby, where she was immediately surrounded by cops of all shapes and sizes. Some wore uniforms, some didn't, but they all had brass glinting somewhere on their bodies.

Biting her lip, Juliana fished her ID out of her jacket pocket, and headed towards security, where they stopped her, just as expected, and scanned her with a metal detector.

"ID?" asked the burly security guard, and she handed it to him.

"I'm Juliana Karlson, transferring to the Crime Lab, under Mac Taylor," she told him. "Do you want to see my transfer papers?"

He nodded, and held out his hand. She handed him the file from her messenger bag, pointing to the last page, with her name, photo, and signature.

"35th floor," he said, giving her back the file, and waving her on her way.

"Thanks," Juliana called over her shoulder, en route to the elevator. Her palms and underarms were already beginning to prickle with nervous sweat. She sighed, as the elevator came to rest with a hiss, and, taking her life into her hands, stepped inside, punching in the button marked '35'.

"Hold the door!" called a voice, and she looked up to see a dark-skinned man running across the lobby towards the elevator. Instinctively, her hand shot out, and she pushed the doors open again.

"Thanks." He exhaled a breath, and gave her a grateful smile. "I would've been waiting ten minutes for the next elevator."

"Where are you going?" she asked, gesturing to the array of floor buttons.

"35th floor, Crime Lab," he replied, leaning forward to punch it in, before realizing that the button was already glowing red. "You too?"

"Yeah, it's my first day on the job," she told him, sliding her messenger bag to the floor, and folding her arms. She shifted her weight, and leaned back against the wall.

He looked her over appraisingly. "You don't look like a rookie."

"Good call, because I just transferred from Montreal," she admitted, with a small smile. She kept her smile in place just long enough to keep it genuine, and let it fade out. Today of all days, she couldn't let her distaste for this city show through. "I'm working for Mac Taylor."

"No way, me too! I'm Sheldon Hawkes. I work with the CSIs, and fill in for the ME sometimes," he said, offering her his hand. She took it, and shook it firmly, giving him her first genuine smile in weeks.

"Detective Juliana Karlson. I do some forensics stuff, too," she said, eyes shifting upwards to check how high they were. The elevator had just passed the 12th floor, and a small pang of panic tightened her chest. Before it could bloom into a full-scale panic attack, Sheldon's voice distracted her.

"But you're not a trained CSI." It was somewhere between a question and a statement.

She shook her head. "I did my undergrad in biochemistry before I joined the academy, so they would let me do PCR and chromatography if the lab was short staffed, which was pretty much always," she explained, peeling off her gloves, and tucking them into her jacket pocket. "Turns out that comes in handy."

"Biochem? We're going to get along just fine," Sheldon said confidently, as the elevator slid past the 20th floor.

"I should hope so, if we're going to be working together," she laughed, readjusting her immaculate ponytail. Her fingers found the bobby pin in the back, and she quickly checked to make sure the lock of hair concealed the elastic it was wrapped around. "Is there anything I should know before I go in there?"

"Mac's a little scary at first, but he's really fair, and to be honest, probably the best boss I've ever had. He's not as intimidating once you get know him. Oh, and don't call him sir. He hates that," Sheldon told her, brow puckering lightly as he tried to think of anything else that might have come in the scope of helpful or comforting.

"That's reassuring," Juliana said, picking up her bag. They had almost arrived, and butterflies were beginning to dance in her stomach for more than one reason. The elevator doors dinged, and she stepped out into the hallway, taking a deep breath.

"Good luck," Sheldon said warmly, clapping her on the back as he passed, and headed off down the hall.

She took a minute to orient herself, and take in her surroundings. A long hall stretched in front of her, every lab and office paneled in glass. It was early, but the place was already bustling with equal parts lab coats and plainclothesmen. There wasn't a uniform in sight. She started cautiously down the hall, trying to avoid walking into people, which proved challenging since the hallway was an obstacle course of lab techs hurrying down the hall with their noses buried in files.

Mac's office was located a little less than halfway down the hall, and conveniently labeled. _Buck up, Juliana,_ she told herself sternly, and tapped on his door. Taking advantage of the fact that he was immersed in paperwork, she took a few seconds to size up her new boss. Late forties, probably ex-military, judging from his closely cropped dark hair, and slightly under average height, but well muscled.

He looked up, capped his pen, and motioned for her to come in. "You must be Detective Karlson," he said, offering her a half-smile as he stood up and made his way around the desk to shake her hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Detective Taylor," she said, taking a seat in front of his desk and folding her hands in her lap.

"Please, Mac," he told her briskly. "We work on a first-name basis around here."

"That might take some getting used to," she admitted quietly, unwinding her scarf from around her neck, and slipping off her coat, which she draped over her lap.

"They don't use first names up in Montreal?" he queried, looking up sharply at her. There was a faint trace of curiosity in his blue eyes, enough to encourage her to continue.

"There's so many Jean-Michels and Marie-Pierres that it makes more sense to go by last name," she explained, smiling at the memory, "so it might take me a while to respond to anything other than '_Karlson!_'" She imitated the Captain's accent perfectly; capturing the gruff inflection of her last name, then broke off abruptly, examining her cuticles. _Way to go, Jules, you just made yourself look like an idiot,_ she thought, flushing.

"I see." Mac, she could tell, was not the sort of person who wasted time on small talk.

"Look, Juliana, as you know, the order to accept you came from above me, so I just want to get some things out of the way before I send you down to get sworn in," he started, pausing to collect himself before he got down to business.

"I thought it was your call," she interjected, feeling heat gathering in her cheeks. She knew exactly where this was headed, and although she had spent the majority of the last two weeks talking herself up in preparation for this, one steely, doubt-laden gaze from her new boss threatened to tear her composure apart.

Mac closed the folder – _her_ folder – and sighed. "Ultimately, it was my choice. If it hadn't been for your otherwise outstanding record and lab skills, you'd be looking for a new career."

"Right," she said, dragging her teeth across her lower lip, and nodding contritely. "I appreciate that."

"So, as I'm sure you've been told, this is a one month probationary position. If you do well, we'll keep you. If you screw up, good luck salvaging your career. Understood?" he asked, sombre expression making it perfectly clear that there was only one acceptable answer.

"Yes, sir. I mean, Mac," Juliana replied, her face, neck, and ears flaming. She blinked a few times, fighting back the rogue tears stinging her eyelids.

"Good." He nodded crisply, before continuing, "You'll be working mainly with me and Stella for the first month. After that, we'll start pairing you up with the others, should you stay." He slid her the folder and a black felt-tip pen, and gestured to the line.

She scanned the document quickly, searching for any fine print. Finding none, she signed her name neatly on the line, and handed it back.

"Normally, I'd fingerprint you and get a buccal swab for DNA, but the lab in Montreal forwarded your records here. All that's left is to get you sworn in, and then I'll give you your gun and badge. Stella can show you around. When we get a body, I'll take you over," Mac said, and she stood up, scooping her messenger bag and coat into her arms. "You can leave your stuff here. Swearing in's on the first floor, to the left of the security desk."

"Thanks." She gave him a weak smile, and pulled her phone from her jacket pocket on her way out. If she was going to make it down the elevator intact, she was going to need a distraction.

Once inside the tiny metal cube, she turned on her phone, and scrolled immediately to her contacts, which were empty. She still knew Em's number off by heart, but there was only one person she wanted to talk to. Philippe would have known exactly what to say to ground the butterflies. Philippe's voice would have made it all better. Unfortunately, Philippe was the reason she was worlds away from home to begin with. With a sigh, she forced herself to look away from her screensaver, which was an ancient picture of the two of them on her first day in Homicide two years ago, before she risked ruining her eyeliner. She was wearing a huge smile, and her eyes hadn't yet lost all their innocence. Philippe looked happy, proud of his rookie, and most importantly, very much alive. It was a cheesy selfie, sure, but it was just about all she had left of him.

Breathing in quickly, it took all of her willpower not to melt down in the elevator. She couldn't even pass it off as rookie nerves either, and explaining herself was one of the last things she wanted to do right now.

After a small eternity, two lab techs, and five cops, she stepped shakily back into the lobby, and found the small room where they swore in the newbies. Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the threshold, ready to become an NYPD officer.

* * *

"I'm all sworn in," Juliana reported, stepping into Mac's office. She was walking a little taller in her patent leather pumps, relieved to have the swearing in over.

"Good." Mac pulled open his desk drawer and pulled out two objects – her badge and gun.

Her blue eyes lit up at the sight of the brand-spanking-new Glock, feeling a little safer already. For the past year, she'd barely taken a shower without a gun in easy reach, so having been without a weapon since she'd left her apartment this morning made her feel naked and vulnerable. She picked it up carefully, checked the safety, and tucked it into her holster with the practiced ease of somebody who had repeated the motion thousands of times before. She fastened her badge to her hip, fingers tracing lightly over its glistening ridges. "Thanks, Mac," she said sincerely.

"Welcome to the team, Juliana," he replied, warmth in his eyes for the first time all day. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. He reached out to shake her hand to seal the deal, and she responded with a smile that actually felt genuine.

"I'm glad to be here," she said, feeling a little more at ease with her surroundings. Maybe it had something to do with the gun at her side. Maybe it was due to something else entirely.

"Why don't you sit down and tell me a bit about Frankie Gerard?" Mac asked, but it wasn't a question. It was a statement, one that demanded an answer that wasn't 'no.' "I read your file, but I want to hear it from you."

Juliana shuddered in disgust. She wanted to tell him that she couldn't talk about it, wanted to tell him that she couldn't relive it again. Her fingers tightened into fists in her lap, palms already slick with nervous sweat. Her mouth was dry, stomach roiling sourly. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the visceral reaction from just hearing his name. When she opened them, he was staring at her with a blend of concern and frustration clearly written on his face. Mac Taylor didn't like people wasting his time, which was exactly what she was doing while she stalled.

"From the beginning?" she asked, uncurling her fists with difficulty. When she flipped her palms over, she winced at the crescent-shaped indentations her nails had left.

"From the beginning."

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "I started in Exploitation Sexuelle des Enfants à des Fins Commerciales - sorry, French - Sexual Exploitation of Children for Commercial Purposes just out of the Academy, probably due to my lab experience and personal experience. I was kind of a detective in training until I sat my detective's exam. Until I became a detective, I split my time between doing basic lab work with the Forensics Unit and the ESEC. I worked with the ESEC Unit for four years. After that, I went to Memorial University to get my Masters in Biochem. After I graduated, I transferred to Homicide in another part of the city. About six months after starting there, Frankie Gerard made his first appearance. We found his first victim, Kaitlyn Maltais, in the Lachine Canal. She hadn't been raped, so the case went to Homicide.

"When Philippe and I tracked Gerard to a warehouse in Dorval, we found a note leading us to Colleen McKenna's body, washed up on Ile Dorval. He had raped her, and we got trace, but not enough to pin him down. I was given lead detective due to my background with the ESEC.

"Two weeks later, we found Marie diCostello's body in the Montreal Aqueduct. By this point, the case had become high profile, which was when he realized that I was his type – blonde, blue-eyed, and a professional woman. I guess he fixated on me, seeing me as the ultimate prize. He let himself get arrested, but we didn't have enough evidence to prove anything, so we had to release him. He started stalking me, sending me notes, creepy gifts like a lock of Sierra Casey's hair, which lead us to her body in Bear Lake. She turned up eight months after Marie diCostello, so the case had been cold for a few months.

"We tracked him to a friend's apartment, and I ordered a police detail on him. He filed a restraining order against us, which was granted since we didn't have anything on him except circumstantial evidence.

"His last victim, Erin Brandt, was reported missing a month after he filed the restraining order. We knew he had her because he sent me one of her earrings, which had a fiber on it that we later matched to carpet from his apartment. I got our tech whiz to hack into his company's files to get his address. Philippe and I went over there and broke in. We didn't have probable cause except a taunting note and her earring, but we knew he had her. We were right. He escaped down the fire escape with her, but he shot Philippe with reinforced Teflon-coated bullets on his way out the window. Philippe didn't stand a chance." Juliana paused, voice cracking slightly. Her eyes were beginning to water at the memory of her partner and best friend lying on the carpet, blood leaking steadily from the gaping hole in his chest. She cleared her throat, and looked up at Mac through her lashes, before continuing, "He bled out in my arms on the floor of that dingy apartment. Erin Brandt turned up in the Saint Laurence River six hours later. She had been raped, strangled, and brutally beaten.

"I got home that night to find a letter from him, threatening to do the same thing to me if I pursued him. It was so graphic abut what he wanted to do to me." She bit her lip, stopping again to compose herself. The words of that letter were seared into her head, but she wasn't about to quote it to Mac. He didn't need to know.

"Montreal PD suspended me and took me off the case. I kept on getting letters and souvenirs from him until the one-month anniversary of Philippe's death. Two weeks later, I was told I was being transferred to New York for my safety, and the case had been reassigned. And here I am," she concluded lamely. Twisting her fingers in her lap, she struggled to block out the memories she wanted so desperately to forget.

"I see." Mac seemed to be searching for the right words to say. There was nothing to say. It was her fault; there was no denying it. She had made the conscious decision to violate the restraining order, and without probable cause, anything they'd found in his apartment would have been inadmissible in court. But the reinforced bullets? There was no way she could have predicted that. He felt a sudden stab of sympathy for the blonde in front of him. Two months after losing her partner, here she was. She bore the obvious signs of emotional trauma - she was dressed professionally, more like a lawyer than a detective, but her make-up was light, barely there, just a smudge of charcoal grey eyeliner on her top lash line and a few coats of black mascara. The dark circles under her eyes hadn't even been touched by concealer, and her skin was bare of any foundation or powder. With her hair smoothed into a neat ponytail, pristine outfit, and less than perfect make-up, he got the distinct sense that she had let herself go since Philippe's death, and the ensemble was an attempt to keep up appearances. "Are you sure you're okay to work?"

Her head shot up, and she fixed him with a determined glare. Her blue eyes were snapping, gaze burning with intensity. "I've passed two psych evals, one in Montreal and one here. I think they would have told you if they had any doubts about my ability to do my job."

"Point taken," he said slowly, a little taken aback by her sudden display of emotion. He looked up to find Stella lingering outside, a case file tucked under her arm. God, she had brilliant timing. He waved her in, and Juliana twisted around in her chair to find herself staring at an olive-skinned, curly-haired beauty.

"This is Detective Karlson," he said, and Juliana stood up to shake the older woman's hand.

"Hi, Juliana. I'm Stella Bonasera," Stella said warmly, impressed by the other detective's firm handshake and cool, professional manner. "I told Mac I'd show you around the lab."

"Great." Juliana draped her coat and scarf over one arm, and hoisted her messenger bag over one shoulder. She waved to Mac, and followed Stella into the hallway. She was instinctively more comfortable with Stella, who initiated small talk as soon as the door had swung shut behind them.

"So how do you like New York?" Stella asked, striding effortlessly down the hall, so Juliana had to hurry to keep up with her.

"I've only been here a week and a half," the blonde admitted, "so I've basically seen the inside of my apartment and various furniture and department stores, but I like it so far." But it wasn't home. She missed her cozy house in Old Montreal. She missed the ambience of her home city. She missed Philippe, Em, Isabelle, her parents, and her dog, Winchester. Before she could start feeling sorry for herself, Stella had ushered her into one of the many forensics labs.

"Guys, we have a new team member," she announced, making everybody in the room look up at the sound of her voice. "This is Detective Juliana Karlson."

"Oohh, fresh meat," chuckled a sandy-haired man, as he put down the glass fragments he was trying to reconstruct. He crossed the room to shake her hand enthusiastically. "I'm Danny Messer."

"I'm Lindsay Messer," said a short brunette, with a smile that immediately made Juliana feel at home. She felt a vague sense of relief that she wasn't the shortest one in the precinct, but moreso in the fact that everybody seemed to be friendly.

"Whassup?" A curly-haired man who looked to be a few years her junior crossed the lab to shake her hand as well. "Adam Ross."

"It's nice to meet you all," she said honestly, feeling her carefully raised guard drop a little. Maybe she could get comfortable here. Under the lights of the lab, she was at home, and she walked slowly around the lab, aware of clicking of her stilettos on the tiled floor in the silence. She admired the variety of microscopes, from scanning to light to electron, some machines she recognized, and some she didn't. Her gaze lingered on Danny's jigsaw of glass shards, eyeing it with interest for a minute.

"I think that piece goes there," she said, pointing to a small, unusually shaped fragment.

Danny pushed his glasses farther up on his nose, and examined the glass in front of him. "Hey, you're right," he told her, a smile lighting up his face. He swabbed the edges with epoxy resin, and slotted it into place.

"Have you gotten anything from the hair?" Stella asked, turning to Lindsay hopefully.

"It's human. We're still running DNA, but it has gradually increasing levels of dibenzodiazepine, or Clozapine," Lindsay said, handing the full screening report to Stella. "The numbers drop to 0 a few millimeters from the root, suggesting that our perp stopped taking his meds."

"Isn't Clozapine an antipsychotic?" asked Adam, spinning away from his microscope. "We could be looking for a suspect with schizophrenia."

"Who's been off his meds for a few weeks," added Danny. "This could actually be helpful."

"Great work, Lindsay," Stella said, patting her on the shoulder. The brunette lit up at the praise, smiling as she turned back to her computer screen. "Keep me updated, okay guys? I'm going to finish showing Juliana around the lab, and then we'll narrow down the suspect pool some more. Can you cross-reference Ettinger's associates with schizophrenics? If he's stopped taking his meds, he's probably been having hallucinations, which somebody might have noticed."

"Will do! See you then," Danny said cheerfully, waving a gloved hand as they headed back into the hall.

Stella walked Juliana through the bullpen where the majority of the detectives worked, showed her desk, and then took her down to the morgue. They didn't stop to say hi to Sid, mainly because he was up to his elbows in somebody's intestines, and then they went to the locker rooms, gym, various bathrooms, and finally down to interrogation. Stella stopped in front of interrogation room 3, and peered inside. "That," she said, gesturing to the teen inside, "is Darcy Kensington." She paused, waiting for the name to sink in. When it didn't, she supplied, "Her dad is Colin Kensington, owner of Kensington Publishing. We suspect she knows something about the Keller case, but she won't tell us anything."

Juliana looked over at the girl sitting calmly in interrogation. Everything about her screamed money, from the navy blue bow headband in her long brown hair, to the subtle wink of the diamonds in her Cartier tennis bracelet, to her blush-coloured quilted Chanel flats. With her school uniform, she looked like a miniature Blair Waldorf. She clearly went to a private school, probably Catholic, judging from how high the hem of her kilt was.

"Parents? Lawyer?" Juliana asked, turning to give Stella a curious look.

"Neither." Stella shook her head, resting her fingers lightly on the sill of the one-way glass window.

"How long has she been here?"

Stella checked her watch. It was just shy of 10:30. "Two and a half hours," she replied, a slightly incredulous look on her face.

Money or no, this girl was clearly not spoiled. Her posture was straight, quietly confident. She wasn't fidgeting, and she'd even crossed her ankles demurely. What told Juliana the most, however, was the fact that she hadn't run crying into the arms of her parents or their $500-an-hour attorney.

"Flack already questioned her – didn't get anything," Stella said, still watching Darcy, who had barely moved.

"Flack?" Juliana asked curiously, clear blue eyes widening at the unfamiliar name.

"He and Sheldon Hawkes are picking up a suspect now. They're the only two you haven't met yet," Stella explained, gaze drifting over to the teen again.

"Actually, I met Hawkes in the elevator this morning," Juliana said, looking intently into the tiny, dimly lit room. "He seems like a really nice guy."

"Yeah," Stella agreed, momentarily distracted by the buzzing of her phone. Pulling it out of her pocket, she scanned the screen quickly, and returned it. "Shoot, I have to go. Look, do you want to try talking to Darcy? She might open up to a fresh face."

"Sure," the blonde detective acquiesced, stepping towards the door. "Before you go, can you tell me what Flack looks like so I can introduce myself when I see him?"

"He's tall, lean, dark hair and blue eyes, and his ties are usually hideous," Stella told her, with another warm smile. "I haven't seen him yet, but I'm sure you'll meet him at some point today." She handed Juliana the case file, before turning to head back towards the stairs. "Can you find your way back up to the lab?"

"Yup, I'm good," Juliana assured her, watching the taller detective until she turned the corner and disappeared. She scanned the case file she'd been given quickly, and flipped to the notes they'd made on Darcy. Apparently, DNA proved she hadn't even been involved with the murder, but she ran in the same social circles as the vic, Maura Keller.

It had been months since she'd seen the inside of an interrogation room. As a matter of fact, she'd felt like the suspect every day since Philippe's death, which had sparked an inquiry and many, many sessions with various psychologists and various officers much higher up on the food chain. She sighed, deciding that since Flack had probably used intimidation with Darcy, she'd go the 'nice cop' route and build a rapport with the teen before prompting her to spill.

"Hi, Darcy, I'm Juliana," she said sweetly, as she closed the door firmly behind her, and took a seat across from the younger girl. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Darcy replied, giving Juliana a tiny smile.

"Great." Juliana opened the file, and placed it in front of her. "So, let me guess, Catholic school?" She eyed the plaid kilt and tie with a faint feeling of nostalgia.

"How did you know?" Darcy's porcelain blue eyes widened, and the corners of her lips curved up slightly.

"Takes one to know one," Juliana offered, with a shrug. "Actually, for me it was Ursuline nuns, but same difference. Now, it says here that you're in Grade 12. Where are you going for university next year?"

"Princeton," Darcy said excitedly. She pulled herself a little farther upright, flushing lightly with pride. "They're giving me a full ride. My parents are really proud."

"Congratulations! They should be. What are you taking?" asked Juliana, impressed by the girl, who clearly wasn't just a pretty face. She wondered briefly what a girl like Darcy, who had everything going for her, was doing getting herself involved with society's rich little juvenile delinquents.

"Political science," Darcy replied, adjusting the fat Windsor knot at her throat. "I'm looking at going into law."

Juliana's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Darcy had just unintentionally given her the in she needed to shift the direction toward Maura Keller's death. "So surely you're aware that not telling me what you know about Maura Keller can get you charged with obstruction of justice? You're 18; they'll try you as an adult. You're a smart girl; you do the math," she said, leaning forward on her forearms and fixing Darcy with her perfected detective glare.

Darcy didn't even flinch as Juliana invaded her personal bubble. "I already told Detective Flack, I don't know anything. Maura and I weren't close."

"Are you sure? I don't think Princeton will save your scholarship till after jail," Juliana said archly, eyeing the cool brunette in front of her. "You could lose your education. I guarantee your parents won't be nearly as proud of you."

"I told you, I don't know anything!" Darcy pleaded, manicured hands clenching into fists, voice rising a few pitches.

"Okay." With an offhand shrug, Juliana got up from the hard plastic chair, and scooped up her folder. "We know that you know both Maura and Casey Haynes, since we found your prints on both of their lockers. If you won't talk, I'll get you booked for obstruction. I'm sure Rikers will be just as educational as Princeton." She sauntered slowly to the door, enjoying watching Darcy sweat in her peripheral vision.

"Wait!" the girl cried, when Juliana was reaching for the door. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you what I know."

"Good." Exhaling, Juliana stifled a smile, pleased to know that at the very least, her interrogation mojo hadn't gone anywhere. She sat back down, crossed her legs, and flipped to a crisp new piece of loose-leaf on her notepad. Plucking a pen from her blazer pocket, she leaned toward Darcy again. "Talk to me, kid."

Fifteen minutes later, Darcy had exhausted her knowledge of the school's not-so-underground drug ring. It looked like Immaculate Virgin wasn't as immaculate as its name implied.

Swallowing her smirk, Juliana closed her folder, and capped her pen, signaling to Darcy that they were done. She watched the teen leave, and stayed in the tiny room for a few minutes, enjoying the endorphins rushing through her system, the way they always did after she got a suspect to talk. Satisfied she'd written everything down, she picked up the file, and tucked it under her arm, heading out of the interrogation room.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing talking to my suspect?"

"Excuse me?" The words came out sharply, infused with was much attitude as she could muster. Juliana stopped dead with her hand on the doorknob, giving whoever it was time to rethink his tone, before she turned around slowly and found herself looking up at an unfamiliar face. He had dark hair and brilliant blue eyes… this must be Flack. And she was significantly less than impressed with him already.

Don Flack, for his part, was confused, and then pissed, because not only was Darcy nowhere to be seen, some blonde was emerging from the interrogation room like she had some right to be there. He scanned her quickly, assuming she was a lawyer, because no cop dressed like she did.

She was short, and could have stood to lose about ten pounds, although he supposed she was pretty, with creamy ivory skin, clear blue eyes, and buttery blonde hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her make-up was basic, and lightly applied, just enough to make her eyes pop. She wore a fitted navy blazer over a white tie-neck button down shirt, black slacks, and, Jesus, there were even bows on the toes of her patent leather four-inch Ferragamo stilettos. Who the fuck wore stilettos around here?

His lips curled in disgust as her blazer slid open to reveal the distinctive glint of brass at her hip as she turned around. Blondie was a cop? Yeah, right. He stifled a snort with difficulty. "I said, who the hell are you?" he demanded, folding his arms defensively.

"I'm Detective Juliana Karlson. You must be Don Flack," she said, biting back a scathing retort. "Are you always this welcoming? Because I'm getting the warm and fuzzies."

He chose to let that slide, trying to ignore the irritation tightening his throat. "What are you doing talking to Darcy? And more importantly, where is she?" He took a step towards her, expecting her to step back, but she didn't move. She had planted her hands on her hips, and he found himself glaring into her furious electric blue eyes, her cheeks flushing pink with anger.

"I let her go. She told me everything I needed to know," she snapped, voice terse with barely controlled rage.

"You did what?" He was just as ticked off as she was, his face red and breathing hard. Good. Juliana felt a small surge of vindictive pleasure that she'd infuriated him.

"It's been a pleasure, Detective Flack," she ground out, voice dripping with sarcasm. She slapped the folder into his hands as hard she could. Sidestepping him, she stalked towards the stairs, back ramrod straight, heels clicking, and ponytail swinging with every step.

"Unbelievable," Flack muttered to himself, staring after her until the door swung shut forcefully in her wake. Just because they worked together didn't mean he had to like her.

* * *

So there it is! I hope you've enjoyed it, and please let me know if you think I should continue. I have a few chapters ready to go, so if you review, I'll get them up faster! Also bonus points if you get the Immaculate Virgins reference and can tell me where it's from. I couldn't resist.


	2. Chapter 2

**a/n: **Thanks to my lovely reviewers, GeorgeAndrews, smuffly, Madison Bellows, and JohnMunchIsMyJew! Your kind words mean a lot. As always, please do let me know what you think, whether you loved it or hated it. I'm always open to your opinions!

* * *

**chapter two**

Flack wasn't sure if he wanted to run, cry, or hit something. Resisting the urge to do any of those things, he forced himself to take a deep breath and head upstairs to find Stella. She owed him an explanation, at the very least.

She was in the forensics lab, leaning casually in the doorway, and getting a status report from Adam, who was working the Keller case.

"Stella," Flack said tightly, "a word?"

"Sure. My office?" she suggested, noticing his thunderous expression.

As soon as the office door swung shut behind them, she settled herself in her chair, watching as he stood in front of her desk. "What's up?" she asked.

"Why didn't you tell me you were replacing Jess?" he demanded furiously. His eyes were dark with emotion, fists clenched tightly at his sides.

Stella's face softened as she realized what this was about. Reaching out, she placed a gentle hand over his, but he flinched away as if he'd been burned. "You think we're replacing Jess? Don, it's not like that! We need the extra help around here, and Mac waited as long as he could. Besides, I think her transfer came from higher up."

"Jesus Christ, Stella, you could have warned me she was female!" he exploded, burying his face in his hands, and grasping desperately for composure.

"I didn't know. I'm so sorry, Don. If I'd known, I would have told you, honestly I would have," Stella said, a twinge of guilt shooting through her. She should have told him, should have pressed Mac for more details about the new detective. After all, he was only four weeks past his infamous breakdown, and she could tell that he was still fragile. He'd been trying so hard to get it all together, and she could him cracking apart. It was like Juliana's arrival had ripped the scab off a healing would, and it was starting to bleed again. She could tell he was angry, and needed to defuse the situation. He was a ticking time bomb.

"It's not just about her taking over Jess's position, is it?" she prompted, staring deeply into his eyes, which were a stormy grey. "Why don't we get a coffee and discuss it?"

"You think coffee is going to make all of this better?" Laughing bitterly, he made a sweeping gesture with one arm. "I thought you knew better than that."

"Well, no, but it might help to get out of here for a bit. My treat," she added coaxingly, as she slipped into her black trench coat and grabbed the keys to the Avalanche.

"Just because it's you," he told her fondly, with a half-smile, as he stood up and followed her to the SUV.

* * *

Juliana emerged from the stairs leading up from interrogation, fuming. She understood being second-guessed on her first day, but the way he'd shouted at her ignited some barely buried anger. She was a short fuse anyway, and he aggravated her already. She was already anxious for the Keller case to be closed, just so that she could put as much space between them as possible. No way was she going to let him screw up her last chance to save herself.

She took a few seconds to get her bearings at the top of the stairs, and then headed for the lab. She pushed the doors open, and the sound made Lindsay look up, wearing a smile.

"How's your first day going?" the brunette asked warmly.

"Well, seeing as Detective Flack already hates me and it's not even 11:30 yet, I'd say it's going pretty well," Juliana replied sarcastically, checking her watch. "Who's working the Keller case in here?"

"I am," Adam replied, waving a hand in the air. "So is Stella."

Lindsay was frowning, concern evident in her wide brown eyes. "I'm sure he doesn't hate you, Juliana. He's not too great with change right now," she said. "I'm guessing nobody told you about Angell?"

"Who?" Juliana's eyes narrowed as she tried to place the unfamiliar name, but she was pretty sure it didn't belong to anybody she'd met today.

"It's kind of a long story, probably not one I should be telling here," Lindsay replied, checking the time on her phone. She looked quickly over at Adam, who was intent on his computer screen. "Why don't we take a lunch break? It's about time."

"Sure," Juliana said amiably. "I'll just have to go grab my stuff from the bullpen."

"Sounds good," said Lindsay, heading to the door, where she paused in the doorway and shot Adam a stern look. "This conversation never happened."

And that was how Juliana found herself sitting in a Panera in midtown with Lindsay, sipping San Pellegrino and eating a chicken Caesar wrap.

"So, Angell," Lindsay started, a flicker of sadness crossing her face at the name. She missed Angell dearly, and after five months, the ache was only just beginning to fade.

"Yeah." Juliana took a small bite of her wrap, and looked up at the woman across from her. She liked Lindsay, she decided, and was appreciative of her efforts to be welcoming, especially in light of the morning's events.

"Jess Angell was the other detective on our team. She was shot while escorting a suspect to court. She never made it off the table," Lindsay explained, taking a delicate sip of her Perrier to compose herself. "She and Don were dating. I don't know much, but I think they were pretty serious. He took it really hard. You didn't hear it from me, because we don't talk about it, but he had a breakdown about a month ago. He's pulled it together, but he's still struggling."

"Oh my God," Juliana breathed, her blue eyes widening in sympathy. She understood why he was so upset with her sudden appearance but his rudeness still irked her, and she had never been one to forgive and forget easily.

"It was really hard for him," Lindsay reiterated, chasing a bite of pasta with Perrier, "so go easy on him, okay?"

"I'll do my best." Juliana nodded, redirecting her attention to her almost untouched wrap. Somehow she had a feeling he was going to be anything but easy on her.

"So, tell me about yourself. You're Canadian, right?" Lindsay asked, looking up from her plate.

Juliana smiled wistfully. It had been less than two weeks and she was already verging on cripplingly homesick. Having distanced herself from her life in Quebec for everybody's safety, she felt completely isolated. She wished she could call Em or Isabelle, just to talk. "Montreal born and raised. You're not local either, right? I mean, you don't have an accent," she noted quickly, between careful bites of her wrap.

"I'm from Bozeman, Montana. I transferred to New York about five years ago," Lindsay said, smiling slightly at the memory of how green she'd been when she'd joined the team. It seemed eons away. "Danny and I have been married for almost a year."

"That's great!" Juliana's eyes lit up with genuine happiness for the first time since they left the lab. She had had a feeling that there was something going on between them when she first met them.

"We have a daughter, Lucy. She's one," Lindsay continued, pulling out her wallet. She slid a picture out, and passed it to the blonde across from her. "That's her."

"She's adorable," Juliana said, taking in the chubby infant with her mother's soft brown eyes and her father's shock of sandy hair. She wasn't much for kids herself. Being an only child, she had always been the youngest, and if asked, would admit that the idea of having kids terrified her. She could see how Lindsay, however, would make a fantastic mother.

"So why did you transfer from Montreal?" asked Lindsay, with genuine curiosity.

"It's a long story, one that's a little too disturbing for lunch at Panera," Juliana replied, taking her time with an answer. She glanced quickly around at the other patrons, and sighed. Sometimes she wondered how it would feel to be normal, to never work until the sun came up, to not see dead bodies in her dreams, to have date uninterrupted by crime scenes.

"It's okay, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Lindsay backpedalled, noticing the way Juliana's brilliant blue eyes clouded over, and how her face had abruptly lost its glow. Clearly, she had some skeletons in the closet. After all, nobody came to New York unless they were running from something.

"It's fine," Juliana said, managing a feeble smile. "I got mixed up in a serial killer case. I made a desperate move to catch the guy, and he shot my partner with reinforced bullets. He died before the ambulance got there. The guy was stalking me, so Montreal PD moved me here, probably hoping I'd be safe, while trying to salvage my career."

That was the short, PG version, anyway. The real version was far more horrific, and the wound was still raw. Juliana closed her eyes against the memories: the gunshots, the warm wetness of Philippe's blood drenching her hands, the way the light in his eyes flickered out and his breathing stilled. They plagued her, pulling at her from all directions until she fell apart, shattered into a million pieces like smashed porcelain. She could still smell the stagnant air of the apartment, mixed with the copper tang of blood, traces of her coconut shampoo as her hair fell over her face, and the smell of what used to be her signature Clinique perfume.

Then came the scenes from the aftermath, where her once cozy house no longer felt like home. They rolled like an unwanted movie: the envelope sitting stark white against her doormat, the way her bottle of perfume exploded as she hurled it against the bathroom wall, showering her with its citrusy scent and shards of glass, the way the smell made her gag and heave between wracking sobs until she eventually passed out on the carpet, too drained to move.

"That's awful," Lindsay said softly, placing a gentle hand over Juliana's. The movement made the blonde flinch involuntarily, and Lindsay quickly withdrew her hand, not wanting to push the new detective too hard. "I'm so sorry."

"Me too." Juliana took a sip of her sparkling water, shoulders dropping under the weight of months of regret. "Me too."

* * *

"I heard you got Darcy Kensington to talk." Stella was heading for the forensics lab, omnipresent case file in hand. "Good job."

"Thanks!" Juliana replied, stopping to let Stella catch up to her. She was honestly surprised to get praise from her superior, since Captain Leclerc had never bothered letting his team know they were doing a good job. The words sent a tingle of pride straight down to her toes. "Have you gotten Casey Haynes in yet?"

"She's down in interrogation now. I was hoping you and Flack could see if you can get anything out of her before her lawyer gets here."

Juliana's stomach plummeted at his name. She could think of hundreds of things she would vastly prefer to spending time with him. Thousands, even. Food poisoning, dental surgery – without anesthesia, swimming in a pool of hungry piranhas, skydiving… the list went on and on.

Stella must have caught wind of her general lack of enthusiasm, and stopped sharply, fixing the shorter detective with a piercing glare, the one usually reserved for suspects. It was utterly soul-crushing, and on somebody who hadn't spent the last two months under a very powerful microscope, it probably would have been breaking. However, Juliana's walls had been built up into an almost impenetrable shield, and she blinked quickly, deflecting the power of Stella's emerald stare. "I heard you two had words this morning. I told him that I told you to talk to Darcy. That should be the end of all of this." Her pointed look told Juliana that it had better be the end.

"We're both professionals, Stella. I'm sure we can work through this," Juliana replied, as calmly as she could. Inside, she was a completely different story, wanting to cry and blame him. It was his fault... right?

"That's the right attitude," Stella told her, expression brightening. She patted her blazer-clad shoulder, and reached for the lab door. "I'm sure you two can figure yourselves out."

Nodding, Juliana pulled a 180, heading back for the stairs. She had a nagging feeling that wasn't going to be the case at all. If Flack wanted a war, that was exactly what he was going to get. Until he indicated that, she was going to dig deep down to her reserve of cool professionalism and give him a second chance. Everybody deserved a second chance.

He looked up at the sound of stilettos on tile, eyes raking mercilessly over her frame. This was going to be fun, he thought sarcastically.

"Hi. Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot," she started, making her way over to him, hand extended as though she expected him to shake it. She opened her mouth to continue, but he cut her off quickly.

"I don't want to be your friend, Karlson," he snapped. "I don't really want anything to do with you, honestly, so let's just get this over with."

"Tell me how you really feel," she muttered under her breath, pulling back her hand quickly and resisting the urge to slap him silly.

Well, at least she tried. So much for making peace. She supposed he should have felt lucky that she had seriously well-honed self control.

"What did you say?" he demanded, glaring daggers at her back.

"You heard me," she retorted, voice dangerously low. She stopped in front of him, locking his gaze. Icy blue met stormy blue, and tension crackled in the air like electricity. "I don't know what your problem is, and I don't really care, but this is my last chance, and I'm not about to let some jerk ruin my career. If you want to hate me, go right ahead. You won't be the first, and you won't be the last."

He grabbed her wrist, and spun her around. Her skin was hot against his, and he dropped her hand quickly, disgusted. She stepped back against the wall, eyes blazing at the close contact. She could practically smell the anger rolling off him in waves. "You really want to do this, Karlson?" he spat. "You don't know what you're getting yourself into."

Her eyes narrowed, deep rage boiling just below the surface, like molten lava. "I think I do." She pushed past him, composing her face into a neutral mask as she stepped into the interrogation room and faced off with a foe of an entirely different kind – the spoiled, entitled teenage kind.


	3. Chapter 3

**chapter three**

"Hey, fresh meat!"

Danny's voice made Juliana roll her eyes before stopping and turning around. The nickname wasn't brilliant, but it showed a little bit of comraderie, and it was a hell of a lot better than just plain old 'Karlson.' "Hi, Danny. What's up?" she asked, a smile on her face.

"Mac wants to see you in his office. Something about a new case," he said mysteriously, eyes flickering down the hall in the direction of their superior's office.

"Oh, awesome! Finally," she said, sighing with relief.

Actually, it was just past noon on her second day, not technically finally or even a while. She would have been lying if she'd said that she wasn't looking forward to getting off the Keller case. Don's attitude towards her was making it increasingly difficult to keep a level head, mainly because she wanted to snap at him every time he opened his mouth.

"I'll see you over there. Have fun," Danny replied, with a knowing wink and a wave.

Returning the wave, Juliana turned around and headed for Mac's office. She pushed open the door, and stepped into the glass-paneled office. "I heard there's a case," she said, stifling her excitement with difficulty.

Mac looked up, and reached for his coat. "Yeah, dead lawyer on 5th Avenue. No apparent COD. Danny, Lindsay, and Sheldon are on their way over there now," he told her, swiping his keys from his desk. "Go grab your coat and meet me in outside in 10."

"Sure," she said, before hurrying down to the squad room, a little bounce in her step.

Twenty minutes later, they were ducking under the crime scene tape.

The crime scene in question was the breakroom of Thompson-Gordon, a small law firm. On the floor lay the body of James Thompson, amidst a few overturned chairs. There was no blood, no bruising, and no fluids. In short, there was nothing to suggest homicide. Juliana had to hand it to the killer: it was one of the cleanest crime scenes she'd ever seen.

Mac handed her a pair of nitrile gloves, which she immediately snapped on, and a camera, and circled the room, before kneeling next to the vic. He pressed two fingers to the vic's neck, gauging temperature. "He's still warm," he noted, lifting the arm and flexing it, "and rigor hasn't set in. I'd say he's been dead less than an hour."

Juliana turned away from the window, where she'd been scanning the room, and nodded thoughtfully. She turned on the camera, and headed over to the body. Scanning him quickly, she began to snap photos.

"Any idea how he died?" asked Mac, with a frown, as he began to examine the body. He didn't want to admit it, but he was a little puzzled. There was no blood, no bruising, and no evidence of any sort of violence except for the toppled chairs, which had most likely been taken down when Thompson when he collapsed.

She knelt, looking the victim over. "There's no swelling, cyanosis, or hives. It doesn't look like anaphylactic shock," she said, gently prising the victim's mouth open, flicking on her penlight, and peering inside. "No swelling of the tongue and his airways are clear. Definitely not anaphylactic shock. My only other theory is poison."

"Injected?" asked Mac, pushing up the vic's sleeves and checking for track marks. Nothing.

"Must have been," Juliana said, giving the vic a third once-over. "No sign of eating anything ante-mortem."

"Are you manhandling my vic?"

Juliana jumped, startled, before regaining her composure and looking up, smoothing her ponytail. "Sheldon!" she exclaimed happily, smiling widely at the medical examiner.

"Sorry, we got stuck in traffic," Lindsay apologized, poking her head around the doorway, and stepping into the room.

Sheldon moved past her, and bent down next to the vic, examining him quickly. "I don't see any obvious COD," he said, gently moving the head and and pushing down the collar. His deft fingers probed the neck, and his head snapped up quickly, wearing a triumphant grin. "Aha! I think I found a COD. It's a needle mark, and it's fresh. Mr. Thompson here must have been injected with something. I'll get him to Sid and we'll figure out what exactly killed him."

"Sounds good. Juliana, go talk to the receptionist and figure out what happened," Mac ordered, helping Sheldon maneuver Mr. Thompson's body into a body bag.

Nodding, Juliana pushed herself up and left the room, looking around for the tearful woman she'd seen earlier. She found her sitting in at her desk, looking entirely lost. "Hi, Ms. Fleming," she said, holding out her hand for her to shake. "I'm Detective Karlson. Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Not at all." The receptionist dabbed at her eyes, and managed a wobbly smile.

"Can you tell me what happened?" Juliana asked gently, sliding herself up so she was perched on the desk.

"I came back from lunch, and went into the break room to get myself a bottle of water, and Mr. Thompson was just lying on the floor. I checked for a pulse, but there wasn't one, so I called you guys," she explained, leaning forward earnestly. "At first I thought he was unconscious, but he didn't have a pulse…" Her shoulders collapsed inward, trembling.

"Do you know of anyone who would have wanted to hurt Mr. Thompson?" she asked, fishing her notepad from her blazer pocket and flipping it open.

The receptionist frowned, and pushed her glasses back up on her nose. "That's the thing; everyone liked him. It was Mr. Gordon people had issues with. James was planning on leaving the company in a few weeks," she said, twisting her fingers in her lap. "He'd just sold his share."

"Did he appoint a predecessor?" asked Juliana, pen poised over the paper.

"Reed Carlton. Over there," she said, pointing over to a younger man wearing a neat grey suit, talking to one of the uniforms. He looked pretty calm for somebody who had just learned about his boss's death.

"Just one more question – how many people would have been in the building between 12:00 and 12:30?" she asked, writing 'Reed Carlton' in her notepad.

"Nobody. Most people go out at about the same time for lunch – it's a small firm. Somebody may have been around, but it's unlikely," she said, biting her lip.

"Do you have security cameras?" Juliana asked, pen poised over her notepad. "We're going to need the footage."

"Sure. I'll get the tapes sent over to the lab," she said, already pulling the files.

"Thanks for everything. I'd give you my card, but I just transferred, so I don't have any yet." Juliana ripped a piece of paper from her pad, and wrote her name and number on it in her neat hand, and slid it across the gleaming mahogany desk. She hopped down nimbly, and turned around to give the receptionist a reassuring smile. "Give me a call if you think of anything else, okay?"

"Sure." Returning the smile tentatively, the receptionist turned back to her computer.

Mac was talking to Reed Carlton when she found her way back to the break room. Lindsay was pulling prints from the doorknob, and Danny was scouring the floor for fibers, or anything, really, that the killer might have left behind.

"How's the weather down there?" she asked Danny, surveying him with a teasing twinkle in her eyes.

Danny, who was on his hands and knees with this face in the carpet, tweezers in hand, merely grunted. "Fantastic."

"Are you ready to head back to the lab?" asked Mac, coming up behind Juliana. "Sheldon talked to Sid, and they're going put a rush on the tox screen."

"I'm ready to go," Juliana said with a shrug. "I talked to the receptionist, and she said that everybody liked Mr. Thompson. Apparently, Mr. Gordon was the one people had problems with. Mr. Thompson was about to leave the company, and he'd just sold his share. Reed Carlton was going to take his place as a partner."

"Do you think the partner-to-be did it?" asked Sheldon, dark eyes flicking over to where Mr. Carlton was sitting in one of the chairs in the reception area, hands pushed firmly in his pockets. He pushed through the doors towards the elevators, the confused frown still in place.

"It doesn't make sense," she said slowly, rolling her lower lip into her mouth. She stepped into the elevator, hit the button for the lobby, and leaned back against the wall. "I mean, he was leaving in a few weeks. Why kill him?"

"Revenge?" Sheldon suggested, frowning, as the elevator descended.

"It just doesn't seem to suggest anger. There was no blood, no signs of anger. It's a clean crime scene," Mac said, voice thoughtful, as the trio moved through the lobby and out into the brisk October day. "Besides, Reed was so close to getting everything. What's his motive?"

"He doesn't have one," Juliana said, "at least, not that we know of. Hopefully the tox screen and autopsy will come up some kind of connection." She slid into the back seat of the Avalanche, buckling herself in quickly.

"You sure you're good back there?" asked Sheldon, twisting around to peer over his shoulder at her. "I can move my seat forward."

"Nah, I'm good." She flapped a hand dismissively in his direction. "I'm short."

He chuckled, and shifted his seat forward a few inches anyway.

* * *

Slipping on a labcoat, Juliana twisted her long hair back into a messy bun, and devoted herself to the tedious process of scanning all the prints Lindsay had pulled from the crime scene. As it turned out, there were a ridiculous amount of prints to go through.

Mac was running DNA from the hair they'd found on the vic's body. It was long, brown, and presumably female, but until they got DNA, there was no solid evidence.

The two worked in silence for a few hours, until Mac walked wordlessly out of the lab, leaving her alone in the lab, which she honestly couldn't say she minded. She worked better on her own anyway, and with him there, even if he wasn't watching her, her fingers were thick and clumsy with the fear of making mistakes.

By midafternoon, she had three fingerprint matches, which was not a lot, but a definite start. Cross-referencing the hits in AFIS with employees and client records gave Mac three people to question – three men.

The last time she'd seen him was when he told that it was her job to go down to the morgue and pick up the tox screen and autopsy reorts when they were ready. As if on cue, her phone buzzed. Moving a little too quickly out of enthusiasm for something hopefully less mind-numbing than running prints, she fished out her phone, finding a simple text from Mac – 'Autopsy/tox screen reports ready' – and grinned to herself as she shrugged out of her lab coat. Mac's texts were just like him, short and to the point.

The morgue was a little colder than everywhere else in the building, and she buttoned her blazer for warmth, crossing her arms tightly to her body. Knocking on the door, she stepped into the autopsy room, where Sid was studying a piece of paper, his back to her.

"I have the autopsy and tox screen results, Mac," he said, back still turned, "and this is quite the unusual case." He turned around, unclipping his glasses and snapping them together so they hung just above the shallow V-neck of his hospital green scrubs. His brow furrowed when he realized that it wasn't Mac he was talking to, but an unfamiliar petite blonde. "You're not Mac."

"I'm Detective Juliana Karlson," she said offering him a warm smile. "I'm the other detective working the case," she added, catching his blank look.

"Oh, you're the one Sheldon was telling me about!" His face lit up, and he shook her hand firmly. "Biochem, right? You're going to love this case – such a creative murder. I've got to hand it to the killer, they did a great job picking a poison."

"Er, do you have a COD?" she asked, biting her lower lip. He was pretty eager about the case, and her curiousity was piqued.

"Sorry." He unsnapped his glasses, and clipped them together again, resting them on the bridge of his nose. "Your vic was killed by an overdose of conotoxin."

"Cone shell snail venom? You've got to be kidding me!" she said excitedly, accepting the file from him and scanning it quickly. "You're right; this is creative."

Sid looked impressed that she recognized what conotoxin was immediately. "I like you. Now, what makes this interesting is that it's synthetic conotoxin, not from a real snail. It's very pure, likely medical grade. Whoever got this was probably working in a lab that does medical research," he said, pulling his glasses apart and snapping them together again.

"Do you always do that?" she blurted, eyeing his black rectangular frames with mild curiousity. "Wouldn't it be easier just to take them off normally?" _Oh, fantastic, Juliana, way to ingratiate yourself with the ME_, she chastised herself, cheeks flushing lightly.

Much to her relief, Sid didn't look offended in the least. "Habit," he told her simply, with a grin and a wink. "Let me know what you find."

"Will do," she promised, waving the folder in his general direction as she headed back up to Mac's office.

By the time she arrived back on the 35th floor, she was feeling almost cheerful. This case pertained to something she knew about. It was as if the ground Flack had torn from under her feet had glued itself back together.

And speak of the devil, there he was, heading in her direction. He shot her a look so cold it would have refrozen the Larsen B ice shelf on his way past, and she responded with a sunny smile and hoped it didn't look too much like a grimace. That look stung a little, but she consoled herself with the fact that at the very least, her case was interesting. The Keller case had hit a dead end once Casey Haynes lawyered up. So there. All but blowing him a raspberry, she wrestled the vindictive smirk off her smirk off her face, knocked on Mac's door, and walked in.

"So?" he asked, looking up from his desk with interest.

"I have COD," she declared triumphantly, before coming to the realization that she probably looked a little too excited.

"I'm waiting," Mac said, arching an eyebrow at her.

"Oh, right. Sorry." Looking down quickly, she handed him the file. "Our vic died from an overdose of highly purified synthetic conotoxin, or more precisely, cone shell snail venom. It's a potent neurotoxin. He would have died within minutes from respiratory failure and paralysis, probably why the chairs toppled as his legs gave out. It's probably good he died quickly, because the effects of lower doses are pretty nasty too: vomiting, shortness of breath, numbness, and vision issues. There's no known antivenom."

"Juliana," Mac cut her off, a glimmer of amusement flickering deep in his eyes. She could give Adam a run for his money in the rambling department.

"Sorry. Uh, it's synthetic so we should probably figure out connections to Mr. Thompson that work in the medical research industry. Cone shell snail venom can be used as a substitute for for powerful painkillers like morphine, but it's actually a better option, because it's more effective in lower doses, as well as being safer because there's a wider window between just enough and overdose. It's also completely non-addictive and impossible to build up a resistance to, unlike opiates or barbiturates," she finished, pausing to take in a breath. "It's still in clinical trials, but it's promising."

"Do you always spend your free time researching alternate uses for natural poisons?" Mac asked, looking her over curiously.

"One of my friends in the Biochem department did her thesis on it. She told me about it, and I thought it was pretty cool, so I read her thesis," she explained quickly, before adding lamely, "It was a good read." _A good read? Good job, dorkasaurus rex,_ her inner voice yelled. She shook her head, making her loose blonde curls sway. So much for being the cool new detective.

"That's certainly fascinating," Mac said, noticing her ears turning red. Yes, she and Sheldon were going to get along really well.

"Have you talked to the guys who got fingerprint matches?" she asked, shuffling a little closer to his desk, after realizing that she'd sort of launched right into a mini-lecture on conotoxin as soon as she'd opened the door.

"None of them seem to be related to the crime, especially since DNA from the hair proves it's female. I don't have the full profile back yet, and it won't come back until tomorrow morning. One of the guys is a delivery man who claims he stopped by the breakroom to grab water while doing a delivery. We checked the records for when he was there, which was three weeks ago. The second guy is a maintenance man who fixed the fridge last week. The third guy is a client of Mr. Gordon's. They all alibied out." He sighed, running a hand over his short cropped dark hair. "We got the security tapes, though. Adam's looking at them down in A/V. I want you to go look through the tapes and let me know if you find anything."

"A/V?" she asked, hoping he'd understand that she didn't have any idea where that might be, and that he'd tell her before she had to ask for directions.

"Down the hall, to the left. It's the one with all the monitors… and Adam," he said, giving her what appeared to be his trademark half-smile.

"Right. On it. Thanks, Mac." And with that, she was off to see the wizard – or find Adam, and from what she'd heard, it was almost the same thing.

The brunette lab tech jumped as the door opened, and spun around, startled. When he realized who was standing in the doorway, his face broke into a wide smile. "Hey, fresh mea – I mean, Juliana," he said, breaking off and blushing furiously, unable to meet her eyes.

"I see Danny's rubbed off on you," she said drily, moving a little closer to the multitude of screens.

"Are you going to shoot me?" he asked nervously, eyeing the way her right hand was on her Glock.

"Oh?" She looked at him, frowning in confusion, before her gaze flicked downward and she realized that it did indeed look like she was about to draw on him. Oops. That was one bad habit left over from the Gerard case that would have to bite the dust quickly. "No. I mean, not over something like Danny's influence. It'd take a little more than that."

"Okay." He cleared his throat and looked over at her, evidently still a little worried. "You sure you're not mad about the nickname?"

"'Course not," she assured him, with an offhand shrug. "It could be so much worse. What do you have for me?"

"I checked the tapes for the repair dude, delivery man, and client for the days they claimed they visited the Thompson-Gordon. All of them were there when they claimed to be. I was just about to go over the footage from the day of the murder," he explained, putting in the next tape, pressing play and leaning back in his chair.

Juliana pulled up the other rolling chair, and settled next to him, eyes glued to the surveillance video. "Wait. Stop. There!" she called out, a few minutes in, pointing to the unfamiliar woman passing through the doors. Eight minutes later, she walked out, tucking something in her pocket. "Can you get facial recognition?"

"I can try." Adam quickly paused the tape and isolated the face, running it through the data base.

"We found a possible killer," Mac announced, throwing open the door, "Susan Gordon."

"Alan Gordon's wife?" Juliana asked, spinning around in her chair. "Does she by any chance work for a medical research facility?"

"No, but NaturLabs reported a break-in a few days. Nothing was taken but a vial of conotoxin. I talked to one of the researchers on the project, Kelly Brinkley. She's one of Susan's friends, and she said Susan came to visit her on the day of the break-in. She left to use the bathroom and when she came back, Susan was just coming back. Claimed she took a look around," Mac said, looking extremely skeptical. He quickly glanced down at his watch, checking the time. "It's 8 now. We'll go down to the marketing firm where she works first thing tomorrow morning. You all go home for the night."

"Is there anything else I can do, casewise?" Juliana asked, standing up and stretching out.

"You can go home and get some rest. I want to see you bright and early tomorrow and we'll go in and arrest Susan Gordon for B and E and murder," Mac told her, with another half-smile.

"If you're sure…" Juliana trailed off reluctantly, heading slowly for the door. She paused in the doorway and gave Adam a smile. "Goodnight, guys. I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

I'm sorry I took so long with this update! I know there's no Flack/Jules drama in this chapter, but it's coming. First and foremost, shoutouts to my reviewers: GeorgeAndrews, smuffly, JohnMunchIsMyJew, and emmy72. Thanks for giving me the motivation to continue! As always, please do take the time to let me know what you think. I'm always open to opinions and constructive criticism.


	4. Chapter 4

**a/n: **There's really no excuse for me not updating, but I've been crazy busy with school and got away from fanfiction for a while. I'n back for a bit, and so here's the next chapter. I hope you enjoy it, and as always, please do let me know what you think. A big shout-out to my reviewers: 2NYwLove, GeorgeAndrews, smuffy, and PsychoGeek!

* * *

**chapter four**

Juliana had barely made it out of the squad room after dropping off her bag when Mac found her. He was already wearing his coat, keys to the Avalanche in one hand and arrest warrant for Susan Gordon in the other.

As it turned out, Susan Gordon worked for a marketing firm in an unassuming Park Avenue skyscraper. It was a quick drive from the lab, despite the morning rush hour traffic.

Eager to prove her chops in the arresting suspects department, Juliana was having a hard time reigning in her excitement. She had to force herself not to overstride Mac, but when they reached the elevator, her good mood deflated like a pricked balloon.

"Not a fan of elevators?" Mac asked conversationally, picking up on the rapid change in mood.

"Not at all. Actually, it's not the elevator so much as the thought of falling 15 stories in one," she explained, studying her neatly trimmed fingernails. If she were Clark Kent, heights would have been her Kryptonite.

"It's a good thing we're only going up 10 stories," he told her in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "By the time you've lived here a month, you'll be a lot better at dealing with elevators."

"Or very fit from going up 35 flights of stairs multiple times a day," she countered, with a ghost of a smile. She looked down at herself, and sighed. 35 flights of stairs just once would kick the living daylights out of her ass. She hated to admit it, but she was pathetically out of shape. After Phil's death and her subsequent suspension and slide down the slippery slope into crippling depression, she'd stopped running and going to the gym. Even going to yoga had been too much to handle, increasingly so as her weight increased and self-confidence decreased. It was incredible how quickly depression, bad diet, and lack of exercise could pack on the pounds. Suddenly ashamed of herself, she was glad that Mac's soft chuckle broke through her self-hating reverie.

"Or that, but you'd be chronically late."

Juliana shuddered, masking it by folding her arms over her chest. "I can't stand being late."

"Well, at least I'll never have to worry about you being late for work," Mac said, half-jokingly.

The elevator doors slid open, and they stepped out onto the floor that housed Anchor Marketing. It was quiet, almost unnaturally so, and despite its nautical name, it had no signs of anything related to the ocean inside. Mac and Juliana breezed through the front doors, flashing their badges as the secretary protested, and strode into the room where Susan Gordon was making a pitch to a room full of potential buyers.

"Susan Gordon? NYPD," Mac said, flashing his badge. "Can you come with us, please?"

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, looking up sharply from her PowerPoint. She tucked a loose strand of brown hair behind her ears, where it had come loose from her tight chignon. "This is a private meeting."

"We can do this the easy way or the hard way," Juliana cut in, twirling the arrest warrant languidly between her fingers. "This is a warrant for your arrest. We can either cuff you now, or you can come with with us willingly and we can try to spare your dignity."

"Arrest? Why? I didn't do anything!" she protested, eyes widening. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You killed James Thompson with an overdose of conotoxin. We have your DNA from a hair we found on the body, and we have you on tape going into Thompson-Gordon just before the murder and leaving directly after. Your husband wasn't even in the building, and he didn't know you were planning on visiting. Cuff her," Mac ordered, staring down the brunette.

Juliana ran her fingers quickly over the cool steel of the handcuffs on her belt as she crossed the room, heading toward Susan Gordon. When she reached out to cuff her, she dug an elbow into the shorter blonde's ribs, wriggling like a fish in her grasp.

"Get off me, bitch. You have no proof. I didn't do anything!" she snarled, hair falling loose around her face.

Irritated at being hit, Juliana shoved the taller woman against the wall, forcing her cheek against the paint. Moving quickly, she pulled her hand down Susan's back, trapping a few loose strands beneath her palms until they sprang free.

"Ouch! You're not supposed to do that. Call my husband, I want a lawyer!" She reached up to rub at the sore spot.

"Oops. Maybe you shouldn't have fought back." Juliana bit back a sorry-not-sorry smirk, and pinned her hands behind her back, cuffing her deftly. Once the cuffs were secure, she pulled out an evidence bag from her pocket and dropped the hair inside. She sealed it, and handed it to Mac. She dug a hand into Susan's back, keeping her pressed against the wall. "Mrs. Gordon, you're under arrest for breaking and entering, theft, resisting arrest, assault of an officer, and finally, the murder of James Thompson," she hissed, before marching her from the room in cuffs. "You have the right to remain silent; anything you say can and will be held against you in the court of law…"

* * *

"How did your first arrest feel?" asked Danny, clapping Juliana on the back. "I heard you were a little rough with her."

"She hit me," Juliana grumbled, rubbing the tender area on her ribcage. It was already starting to bruise; she'd checked in the locker room.

"You're tougher than you look, fresh meat," he teased lightly. "I wouldn't have put you down as the butt-kicking type."

"I know, I dress like a lawyer. But what can I say? I'm full of surprises," she said, tossing him a cheeky wink as she headed for the staircase. Stairs were still her preferred mode of transportation, and the locker room for the CSIs was just a floor below the lab.

"Hey, you," Lindsay said, addressing both of them at once. She wrapped her arms around Danny's waist and pulled him in for a hug. Their lips met in a chaste kiss. "We're going to Sully's for dinner and drinks to celebrate closing the Keller case. Do you want to come along, Juliana?"

"I'd love to," Juliana replied warmly, then hesitated, biting her lip. It was such a stupid thing to ask. She shifted her coat in her arms, not wanting to miss out on the chance to get to know her new colleagues, but a night with Don Flack, even buffered by everybody else, was grossly unappealing. "Is Flack coming?"

"Don't you worry about him," Danny said, running a hand through his messy hair. "He won't be grouchy if we're all there."

Somehow, she doubted this, but Juliana prudently held her tongue. She wasn't about to badmouth the dark-haired detective to his best friend. "Sure, let me go get my stuff," she said, and disappeared down to the locker room to grab her bag.

She followed Lindsay and Danny to the tavern, snagging a parking space just across the street. As she walked past the glass panels in the front, she saw the majority of the team already there. Sheldon, Stella, Adam, and Flack were sitting around a large table, laughing and swapping stories. Suddenly feeling like an interloper, Juliana hung back, watching the happy scene from the other side of the glass.

"We won't bite," Danny said, noticing her trepidation.

"You're one of us now, it's okay," Lindsay assured her, guiding her through the doors.

As soon as the smell of the bar hit her, she felt herself enveloped in a warm mix of pub food and liquor. It was a heady, comforting blend, and instantly released some of the tension gathering in her shoulders.

"Hey guys!" Lindsay waved, dropping her bag into one of the chairs. "Congrats on closing the Keller case!"

"Thanks, Linds. Heard you closed yours too," Stella said, smiling brightly at the petite CSI over the rim of her beer glass.

"This one made her first arrest," Danny said, looking somewhat like a proud parent as he gave Juliana a gentle nudge forward. She stumbled, caught herself, and managed a weak smile, pointedly ignoring Flack's grimace at the announcement.

"That's great! Pull up a seat," Sheldon said, motioning to the empty chair between him and Adam.

"Thanks." Smiling gratefully, Juliana shed her coat and loosened her scarf before settling in between the two men. With the exception of the blatant hostility from one person directly across the table, she could get used to this. The warmth and good spirits were inherently cheering, and the smells wafting from the kitchen were positively delicious. Stomach rumbling, she turned to Sheldon and asked, "What's good here?"

"Can't go wrong with a burger," he replied, grinning over at her.

"Sounds fantastic! I'm starving." She cast his burger a covetous look, and dug in her purse for her wallet before heading over to the counter. She'd just finished ordering when she felt a presence looming behind her. She whirled around, glare in place. "What do you want, Flack?"

"First arrest, huh? Mommy and Daddy must be so proud," he said, smirking smugly down at her.

Feeling short even in her usual four-inch heels, Juliana clenched her fists and resisted the temptation to shove one of her stilettos up his nose. "I've been a cop for six years, Flack," she growled, "and that wasn't my first arrest and it certainly won't be my last."

"Mac just let you arrest her to boost your ego," he jibed, never taking his eyes off her face as he tried to gauge her reaction. He knew antagonizing her was probably a bad idea in the long run, since from what he'd seen already, she was five feet four inches of venom. There was something deep inside him that spoiled for a fight with Jess's replacement. He just wanted to push her relentlessly until she cracked. He'd seen past that flawless façade she put on so well, and he wanted to blow her veneer wide open.

"Look, asshole," she said, crossing her arms defensively and squaring herself for a verbal spat with the taller detective, "I may be less experienced than you, but I did my time at the Academy just like every cop out there. I have six years experience with major crime units, as well as an undergrad and masters, so why don't you back the hell off?" Okay, so maybe calling one of her colleagues an asshole on her third day on the job was not the smartest career move she'd ever made, but nobody had heard except for the bartender, who was unsuccessfully trying to stifle an amused smile, and besides, she was off the clock.

"Ooh, a Masters? In what, Anthropology? You must be so much better than everybody else with all that education."

"Actually, it was in Biochemistry." Signaling him to hold on for a minute, that this was far from over, she turned around and rested her forearms on the bar. She was going to need a drink to deal with him. She made eye contact with the bartender, who ambled over.

"What can I get you, darlin'?" he asked pleasantly.

"A shot of Jack, please," she said sweetly, slamming a bill down on the bar with more force than she'd initially intended.

"Bold choice," he commented, pouring the amber liquid into a shot glass and sliding it across the bar to her.

"Something tells me I'm going to need it," she replied, downing the liquor in one go without so much as a wince. It burned a glowing path all the way down to her stomach, where it hit her like a sucker punch. Under normal circumstances, one shot wouldn't have done a whole lot, but she hadn't eaten in eight hours, and she was exhausted, hence the fast track to her bloodstream.

"You think you're tough because you drink whiskey?" Flack questioned, an irritating smirk playing around his lips.

"I know I'm tough because I've taken down men twice my size without breaking a heel," she retorted coolly, running a hand through her loose buttery blonde waves.

"Shooting them hardly counts, sweetheart." There was another flash of that loathsome smirk.

"I have tackle like a linebacker," she snapped, "and I'm not afraid to use it."

"Yeah, I bet the extra weight must help," he snarked, eyeing her figure mercilessly. Maybe that was a little too far out of line, but he was enjoying the flames dancing in her eyes.

In two quick steps, she was directly in front of him, glaring up at him with unadulterated hatred. "That's real nice, make fun of my weight," she snarled, just a trace of a Quebec accent colouring her words. One clenched fist jerking upwards suddenly, before she restrained herself, unclenching her fingers at her side. "That's a low blow, even for you, Flack."

He folded his arms, wondering if she was going to cold cock him right there. Even if he didn't want to admit it, he probably deserved it just a little.

She spun in her ridiculously high heels and marched back to the table, every muscle tight with the effort of not punching him till he was black and blue everywhere her fists could reach.

"What was that about?" asked Sheldon in concern, as she sat down and began attacking her burger like it owed her money.

"Nothing," she replied quickly, tone effectively communicating that she didn't want to talk about it. "Just a disagreement."

"Yeah, I can see that," Sheldon said, taking in her murderous expression. He ran a soothing hand over her arm. "It won't last forever, you know. He'll get used to you eventually."

This was cold comfort. Juliana knew she was walking the fine line between professional and unprofessional, and didn't want to push her luck any further than she already had.

"Well, this has been fun." Looking like he'd had about as much fun as having a root canal, Flack swept his coat off the back of his chair. "I'm going to head out."

There was a chorus of goodbyes, and Lindsay and Stella got up to hug their friend good night.

Once the door had swung shut behind him and he disappeared into the night, Juliana felt a small tingle of guilt settle in her stomach. Technically, he'd instigated things, but she felt a little bit bad for driving him away. The devil on her shoulder whispered, 'Good riddance,' but she shook it off. Feeling the need to apologize, she raised her head, eyes flicking around the circle. "I'm sorry if my presence made him leave."

"Don't worry about it. He'll have to adjust." Stella spoke first, her voice quiet and reassuring. She learned back to shoot the blonde a warm smile.

Juliana pulled out her phone, more to check the time than to see if anybody had called or texted – they hadn't. It was just after 10, not really late, but she was tired, even more so as the adrenaline from her confrontation with Flack ebbed. "I should head home soon, probablement," she said softly, not even registering what had come out of her mouth until she heard Adam chuckle beside her.

"You speak French?" the lab tech inquired, looking at her curiously. "That's awesome! I mean, you don't have an accent, so I keep on forgetting you're from Montreal."

"I tend to slip into Franglais when I'm tired," she explained, with a sheepish smile. "That wasn't even bad compared to some of the things I've said at 3 am. It's one of the side effects of being bilingual, I suppose." She cringed, remembering the time Philippe had asked her if she wanted coffee during an all-nighter in the thick of the Gerard case, and she'd replied, 'Yeah, je veux un coffee, avec two sucre and de lait.' Oops. Mental and physical exhaustion made it really hard to keep her languages separate. Luckily, Philippe understood her mess of English and French pretty well, but others probably would have been downright confused.

"Teach me something," Adam requested excitedly, leaning forward on the table. "That is, if you want to."

"Sure. Uh, je m'appelle Juliana, et je suis de Montreal," she said, carding her fingers through her bangs. "That means 'my name is Juliana and I'm from Montreal.' Now you try. Je m'appelle…"

"Je m'appelle Adam, et je suis de New York," Adam tried haltingly. His eyes lit up at the end. "Did I get it right?"

"Your accent is atrocious, but you're practically fluent," she teased, grinning. She pulled her mass of hair over one shoulder. "Anybody else want to try?"

"Je m'appelle Stella, et je suis de Greece," Stella echoed, flashing a warm smile around the table. "You keep this up and we'll all be multilingual pretty soon."

"I should hope so," she chuckled, taking a long pull from her glass of water. "For living here, it probably makes sense to learn Spanish, though."

"That's probably true," Sheldon mused, as he finished the last of his French fries. "It's always helpful to be multilingual, though."

"I'm sure it'll come in handy at some point here, though," she replied, polishing off the last of her salad and checking the time. It was just before 11:00. She could probably afford to stay another half hour.

Somehow, half an hour turned into an hour, and Juliana peeled her tired frame out of the comfortable chair and forced herself to stand up and say her goodbyes. She was practically dead on her feet, and she couldn't risk falling asleep at the wheel.

After the goodbyes had been said, the crowd dispersed quickly. Juliana stumbled out of Sullivan's, more from exhaustion than anything else. The heels weren't helping on the uneven sidewalk, either.

The cold air hit her like a slap to the face, or a shot of espresso. Shaking her head to clear the fog, she tucked her hair behind her ears, and twirled her keys around her index finger as she headed for her car. The sooner she got home and into bed the better. It was probably better for everyone else in the morning too.


	5. Chapter 5

**chapter five**

The phone rang, jarring the silence of the dark apartment.

The lump on the bed stirred. It groaned, reached for the phone vibrating on the bedside table, swore loudly when the time flashed on the screen, and hit talk. "Karlson," Juliana slurred sleepily, peeling her face from the duvet and sitting up reluctantly, realizing that she was still in her clothes from the previous day. Damn. She pushed her fingers through her tangled curls, wincing as they got stuck in the mats that had formed overnight. Double damn.

"I'm sorry to wake you up this early, but we've got a double in an alley off Broadway and East 22nd," Mac said, sounding irritatingly chipper for 3:45 am. "It's raining, so we need all hands on deck to collect as much evidence as possible."

"Right. That's close to where I am. I'll be there soon," she said, as she hung up and stood, going from sleepy to wide awake back to sleepy in a few seconds. When they caught the perp, she was going to have to try really hard not to strangle him or her for waking her up this early. With just under three hours of sleep under her belt, Juliana was past the point of a power nap, but not even close a full night's sleep. She was nowhere near functional. Rubbing her burning eyes, she groaned at the smudge of grey streaked across the back of her hand. So she'd fallen asleep in her clothes with make up still on after getting back from Sully's. Fantastic.

As she staggered towards her closet, already popping the buttons on her wrinkled slacks, she came to two unpleasant realizations. One, 'all hands on deck' meant everybody, which ultimately meant Flack. Two, the steady dripping outside meant that it was raining hard. She did not have the patience to deal with either Flack or rain this early in the morning.

She also didn't have time to shower. Grumbling at the injustice of the world, Juliana thanked the cosmetic gods for the invention of dry shampoo, and sprayed a bit on her roots. If she closed her eyes, it was almost as good as showering… almost.

Sighing, she pulled her hair back and washed yesterday's make up off her face, attempting to mask her exhaustion with a thin layer of foundation, white eyeliner along her inner lash line, navy eyeliner on her top lash line, and a generous coat of mascara, before moving on to the mess that was her hair.

Juliana quickly caught her long bangs up in a French braid, and tied the whole thing back in a ponytail. If you didn't look too closely, she could pass for looking put-together.

4 am. She was vaguely surprised to stumble into the kitchen in search of a granola bar and realize that she'd lost her pants somewhere between the bed and the bathroom, and neglected to put on a fresh pair. She was going to have to put in some extra effort just to make sure that she didn't show up to work with her top unbuttoned or something equally embarrassing.

Half a granola bar shoved hastily in her mouth, Juliana quickly found a pair of slim-fitting black slacks, a peach long-sleeved blouse, and a navy cardigan. She slid into her trusty Hunter rain boots, grabbed her waterproof teal raincoat, badge at her hip and gun in holster, and was out of her apartment.

Mac hadn't been kidding when he said it was raining. It was pouring, water lashing her exposed cheeks and creeping stealthily down the neck of her coat. Shivering, she tightened the chiffon scarf around her neck, flicked her hood up, and kept her head down until she reached her silver Toyota Prius, and drove to the crime scene, which was close enough that she could have walked.

It was 4:17 when she pulled up close to the alley. Not bad at all. Humming along with the Ke$ha song on the radio, she killed the engine and stepped out into the merciless rain, getting ready to flash her badge as she ducked under the garish crime scene tape.

Just her luck, aside from the uniforms containing the scene, Flack was the only other person there. Swallowing her annoyance at being alone with him, she approached the two bodies. They'd been shot execution-style, one shot clean through the back of the head. Their wrists were bound with zip ties, and the skin underneath was livid, like they'd struggled against their bonds.

"What do we have?" she asked, giving the two a once-over. They were dressed in business suits, likely expensive, but they'd been executed. Somebody certainly wanted to send a message.

Flack hadn't heard her approach, probably because for once, she'd forgone those infernal heels she loved so much. Instead, she'd opted for red knee-high rain boots. He wasn't sure those were much better. "Two dead bodies," he deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes, and lowered her hood. "I can see that," she snarked, twirling the ends of her ponytail around her finger. "Let me rephrase this so you can understand: do you have IDs, witnesses, anything?"

"Nothing," he replied, in his thick Queens accent. "No IDs, but if you'd checked them over, you would've known that."

"Look, Flack, it's not even 4:30 and I don't really have the energy to deal with you right now," she snapped, squatting down next to vic #1, and trying to isolate anything remarkable about him.

"Then don't," he retorted sharply. "Why don't you work your CSI magic and do something useful like gathering trace?"

"Do you see a kit? I'm not a CSI," she said, exhaling in exasperation.

"Then what are you even doing here?" he demanded, leaning back against the slick alley wall, smirking that insanely aggravating smirk of his. "I mean, what with a masters and everything, I thought they would have bent the rules for you."

"What?" She frowned, eyebrows knitting in confusion as she tried to process what he'd just said. She didn't know what he was insinuating, but she didn't like it one bit.

"You heard me," he said quietly, brushing past her as he bent down next to vic #2. His words reminded her of what she'd said to him just a few days ago, and he mimicked her cold tone perfectly.

Before she could spare his words a second thought, headlights pierced the darkness of the alley. There was a clatter of heels on concrete, and Lindsay's silhouette appeared, calling out a cheerful hello, Stella hot on her heels. She and Stella immediately began processing the scene.

Once Mac arrived, he sent Juliana and Flack back to the precinct to do research on missing persons, AFIS, anything that would lead them to identify the bodies.

The precinct was virtually empty, which wasn't particularly surprising since it was barely 5:30 am. Juliana stifled a yawn as she followed Flack to his desk. There was an empty desk across from his, and she slid into it, grateful to be able to sit. She dropped her head into her hands, scrubbing at the sleep deprivation-induced headache gathering behind her eyes.

"Coffee maker's that way," Flack said gruffly, jerking his thumb in its direction as he passed her. "You look up Missing Persons."

"Okay," she muttered, dragging herself out of her chair and over to the coffee pot, where she started another batch. She was too tired to argue with him over who was doing what. Caffeine was so not going to be good for her brewing headache, but she needed to stay awake at all costs.

Steaming mug of coffee in hand, she set the cup down carefully and booted up the ancient computer in front of her, logged in, and began to comb through the database of Missing Persons.

It was an arduous task, boring and utterly uninspiring, but after almost an hour, she found got a hit on vic #1. Vic #2 followed a few minutes later, and she sprang out of her chair, pacing the perimeter of the bullpen as she called Mac.

"Hey, I got a hit on both our vics," she said, fiddling with the buttons on her cardigan. "Timothy Barnes and Ben Cuthbertson. They're businessmen, and they work for Technicorp, a software firm. Barnes is the CEO, and Cuthbertson is the CFO."

"Good work. Why don't you see what you can find out about them, then come back to the lab and go with Stella to the Technicorp headquarters," Mac said, and the line went dead, static popping in her ear.

She stared dazedly at her phone, before slowly replacing it on her desk and getting back to work on researching Technicorp.

When she took her next break, it was 7:30, and she was just about to take a nap on her keyboard. Most places wouldn't be open, but with traffic, by the time she got to the lab, some might be. Taking a swig of her now cold coffee, Juliana powered down her computer. Maybe she'd get to grab a muffin from Starbucks on her way over to the lab.

"Where are you going?" Flack demanded suspiciously, as she shuffled past him, like a zombie.

"Over to the lab, since I got a hit in Missing Persons. Stella and I are going to the Technicorp Headquarters in Midtown," she explained, palming her car keys.

"Sure you're not cutting out early to get breakfast?" he asked dubiously, glaring at her over the rim of his mug.

"Tempting, but no. I would pick you up some doughnuts, but it probably wouldn't kill you to skip," she rejoined sharply, making a show of eyeing his figure critically. This was utter bullshit; his body didn't have a scrap of extra fat on it, but she was still irked about the comment about her weight from last night. And despite the fact that she didn't want to show it, that had stung, hitting her right where she was still sensitive.

He bit back a snide remark about how it would probably be better for her to skip the doughnuts. There was just something about pushing her buttons that was so tempting, but she was just in front of his desk and he didn't feel like wearing his coffee, which was probably what would have happened if he'd said what he was thinking. Instead, Flack settled for the oh-so-mature, "Fuck you."

"Fuck you too," she shot back, too tired to come up with a decent retort. Somebody chuckled, but she ignored it, focusing on the doorway and freedom.

Scagnetti leaned over to grin at Flack. "She's a short fuse, that one."

* * *

Six hours later, Juliana and Stella were back from the Technicorp headquarters, and attempting to get something useful out of the higher-level executives at the company. Either they were very good liars, or they really didn't know anything.

Flack had pulled financial records, and everything seemed sound. The company was apparently doing well by all accounts, growing, and with a solid group of investors.

However, the spreadsheets from Ben Cuthbertson's computer showed a failing company, buoyed by large deposits of cash from a Swiss bank account.

The time difference meant that the bank in Geneva would be closed, so one the interrogations were finished, Mac let his exhausted team go.

Juliana rubbed her dry, stinging eyes, and peeled herself out of her chair. So much for tying the two vics to organized crime of any sort, although it certainly looked like it could have been a mob hit. Either way, she was as done worrying about the case as she was going to get.

She was grateful that she'd chosen the quiet neighbourhood of Gramercy, because after being awake for over 12 hours, she was running on minimal fumes. Her reserves were utterly drained, and she had no energy to be on her guard.

She let herself into her apartment, glad to be home. With no motivation whatsoever to make herself dinner, she stripped out of her work clothes, put on her pjs, brushed her teeth, and fell into bed. She was out as soon as her head touched the pillow.

It was still raining when she woke up, and instead of feeling a flash of annoyance at the dismal weather, she smiled to herself, opening her eyes. It was 5:30, and she felt surprisingly well rested after 12 hours of sleep.

As she lay in the darkness, warm and safe in her duvet cocoon, she let her thoughts drift hazily. They settled stubbornly on one thing – Flack's comment about her weight. Feeling her blood beginning to boil already, she jumped out of bed, searching for her running gear. Screw him and his attitude. Maybe she'd let herself go a little – okay, a lot – but she'd show him. She'd lose the extra weight, starting now.

With her earbuds in, reflective armband, waterproof shell, and armed with a playlist of dance mixes, Juliana stepped out into the pre-dawn greyness. It was misting slightly, and the atmosphere was dense with fog, but it didn't get her down like it usually did.

Breaking into a light jog, she felt her running shoes pound the sidewalk to the beat of her heart. Damn, she'd missed this feeling, the way she felt practically unstoppable. Her world had narrowed down to just her and the sidewalk, her breath coming in hard pants, calves burning with the exertion, and the endorphin rush in spite of it all.

Reaching her apartment doors, Juliana took a last look around the neighbourhood. It was peaceful, with only a few headlights piercing the thin darkness. She almost preferred it this way.

Slipping into the park, she walked slowly, reverently, through it, enjoying being alone. As the sky lightened, she sat on a bench, ignoring the cold water seeping into her lululemon leggings. She turned off her music and tucked her iPod safely into her pocket, listening to the drip of rain from the tree branches, and the chirping of the birds instead. The endorphins were fading quickly, leaving her with a deep sense of melancholy.

She bowed her head, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers, elbows propped on her thighs. "Philippe, give me the strength to get through this," she murmured raggedly, thumbing the locket dangling around her neck. "I'm so sorry, Phil, I just miss you so much, but I don't know if I can do this. I don't know if I can do this. Please, tell me I can. Tell me I can do this. _Please_."

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**a/n: **A massive thanks to my lovely reviewers, 2NYwLove, GeorgeAndrews, smuffly, PsychoGeek, and CSIGetteBlue. You guys are awesome!


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